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In the beginning, there was Shadkjah, and only Shadkjah… probably. Forget Arbiters; fuck that noise. Sure, they were real. Yes, they were super powerful. Of course, they had physical forms. But any true believer knows what the Frogospel makes perfectly clear: they all pale in comparison to the might of the Frog God. Deep in the jungles of Kraw, there lived a sect of people who knew the truth: even today, he still ruled. That’s what they were told, anyway.
“Steady,” Bug Catcher Rick whispered to himself, “Steady.”
His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his net. He took a step forward into the tall grass, the blades tickling his feet and bare ankles through his sandals. He almost laughed, but knew that would blow his cover, and he couldn’t afford to do that. The frog god demanded a sacrifice, and it was his job as Bug Catcher -- yes, that was his official title within their community -- to provide.
The Caterpie hadn’t noticed him yet, and if Shadkjah was to be pleased today, it would need to stay that way. It scuttled through the tall grass, whirring its little Caterpie sounds as it wove through the blades. Rick focused hard on his prey as he approached, slowly and carefully, the net held high.
He’d long since proven himself the most skilled Bug Catcher in the entire tribe, so Caterpie like this were almost too easy. The others struggled to wrangle a Kakuna or a Metapod, but more than once, Rick had returned home to Shadkjah’s Shadow -- the tight conglomeration of trees that supported their village of treehouses -- with a true prize. Today, Caterpie might be the only thing he would bring back, but it wasn’t unbelievable for him to come back home with a Butterfree, or even a Venomoth.
Today, though, his goal was simple: early bird gets the worm.
Sunlight glinted off the Caterpie’s emerald green back. Rick could feel the sweat dripping down his own back, sliding from the tufts of blonde mullet sticking out of his hat. His off-white tank top clung to him in the wet Kraw heat.
The forest green flannel wrapped around his waist did an admirable job holding up his slightly-too-big brown shorts -- a hand-me-down from his older brother that he’d yet to fully grow into -- but still they slid. He cursed inwardly at his lack of belts, then reached down and yanked them up, the shuffling cloth alerting the little Pokemon to his presence. Fuck.
The Caterpie straightened, its bulbous black eyes circling over to see the Bug Catcher hunched over just a few feet away.
“Stay,” he warned the little guy, holding out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Stay.”
The Caterpie quirked its head, almost as if to say “hell no.”
Then it spun around and started to scatter. Bug Catcher Rick leapt into action, literally soaring forward and slamming the net into the ground.
Fuck, he cursed, I missed!
His prey dove away, into a thicker patch of tall grass to try and camouflage itself, but the Shadkjah cultist was too quick. He rushed forward on his hands and knees, leaving the net behind and shoving blade of grass after blade of grass out of his way. Within moments, the Caterpie was within reach, and he lunged forward and pulled the little worm into a big, tight bear hug, collapsing on the dirt with a huff.
“Got ya,” he exhaled, relief washing over him. He sighed, hurrying off the ground. He’d just washed this tank top and he simply could not handle it getting muddy so soon. He picked his net up off the ground and shoved the Caterpie down inside it, hurrying out of the tall grass and starting the short trek back to the Shadow. The sun was cresting further and further over the horizon, which meant the morning ceremonies would begin soon, and Shadkjah waited for no one.
The frog god needed his breakfast.
***
Shadkjah’s Shadow was a village of interconnected treehouses weaving through a particularly tight patch of trees deep in the jungles of Kraw. Far away from any civilization, the cultists of the frog god were free to worship their deity as they pleased, without interference from Dr. Jones or Scamander or any of their ilk. And that was just the way they liked it.
On the surface below, they’d set up a pyre in a small clearing near the village’s middle, standing just in front of a small stone altar they’d uncovered from some nearby ruins. Long wooden benches sat there constantly, always ready to accept butts for the feeding ceremonies that took place three times a day. Breakfast, of course, was the most important meal of the day, and Bug Catcher Rick never missed an opportunity to donate. He would admit that at times he found the bugs rather cute, but Shadkjah had, quite literally, saved his life, so a Caterpie here and a Venonat there seemed like a small price to pay in return for that.
Today, though, as he entered the clearing, net swung over his shoulder, Caterpie writhing around inside of it… he was thinking of Scizor. Too much, in fact. He glanced up at his own little hut, nestled in a nearby tree.
No one knows, right?
No one knows I’m keeping one for myself?
He took a deep breath and approached the altar with today’s sacrifice. There was no time to stress about things like that now. It was almost time for the Morning Feeding to begin.
“Steady,” Bug Catcher Rick whispered to himself, “Steady.”
His fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of his net. He took a step forward into the tall grass, the blades tickling his feet and bare ankles through his sandals. He almost laughed, but knew that would blow his cover, and he couldn’t afford to do that. The frog god demanded a sacrifice, and it was his job as Bug Catcher -- yes, that was his official title within their community -- to provide.
The Caterpie hadn’t noticed him yet, and if Shadkjah was to be pleased today, it would need to stay that way. It scuttled through the tall grass, whirring its little Caterpie sounds as it wove through the blades. Rick focused hard on his prey as he approached, slowly and carefully, the net held high.
He’d long since proven himself the most skilled Bug Catcher in the entire tribe, so Caterpie like this were almost too easy. The others struggled to wrangle a Kakuna or a Metapod, but more than once, Rick had returned home to Shadkjah’s Shadow -- the tight conglomeration of trees that supported their village of treehouses -- with a true prize. Today, Caterpie might be the only thing he would bring back, but it wasn’t unbelievable for him to come back home with a Butterfree, or even a Venomoth.
Today, though, his goal was simple: early bird gets the worm.
Sunlight glinted off the Caterpie’s emerald green back. Rick could feel the sweat dripping down his own back, sliding from the tufts of blonde mullet sticking out of his hat. His off-white tank top clung to him in the wet Kraw heat.
The forest green flannel wrapped around his waist did an admirable job holding up his slightly-too-big brown shorts -- a hand-me-down from his older brother that he’d yet to fully grow into -- but still they slid. He cursed inwardly at his lack of belts, then reached down and yanked them up, the shuffling cloth alerting the little Pokemon to his presence. Fuck.
The Caterpie straightened, its bulbous black eyes circling over to see the Bug Catcher hunched over just a few feet away.
“Stay,” he warned the little guy, holding out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Stay.”
The Caterpie quirked its head, almost as if to say “hell no.”
Then it spun around and started to scatter. Bug Catcher Rick leapt into action, literally soaring forward and slamming the net into the ground.
Fuck, he cursed, I missed!
His prey dove away, into a thicker patch of tall grass to try and camouflage itself, but the Shadkjah cultist was too quick. He rushed forward on his hands and knees, leaving the net behind and shoving blade of grass after blade of grass out of his way. Within moments, the Caterpie was within reach, and he lunged forward and pulled the little worm into a big, tight bear hug, collapsing on the dirt with a huff.
“Got ya,” he exhaled, relief washing over him. He sighed, hurrying off the ground. He’d just washed this tank top and he simply could not handle it getting muddy so soon. He picked his net up off the ground and shoved the Caterpie down inside it, hurrying out of the tall grass and starting the short trek back to the Shadow. The sun was cresting further and further over the horizon, which meant the morning ceremonies would begin soon, and Shadkjah waited for no one.
The frog god needed his breakfast.
***
Shadkjah’s Shadow was a village of interconnected treehouses weaving through a particularly tight patch of trees deep in the jungles of Kraw. Far away from any civilization, the cultists of the frog god were free to worship their deity as they pleased, without interference from Dr. Jones or Scamander or any of their ilk. And that was just the way they liked it.
On the surface below, they’d set up a pyre in a small clearing near the village’s middle, standing just in front of a small stone altar they’d uncovered from some nearby ruins. Long wooden benches sat there constantly, always ready to accept butts for the feeding ceremonies that took place three times a day. Breakfast, of course, was the most important meal of the day, and Bug Catcher Rick never missed an opportunity to donate. He would admit that at times he found the bugs rather cute, but Shadkjah had, quite literally, saved his life, so a Caterpie here and a Venonat there seemed like a small price to pay in return for that.
Today, though, as he entered the clearing, net swung over his shoulder, Caterpie writhing around inside of it… he was thinking of Scizor. Too much, in fact. He glanced up at his own little hut, nestled in a nearby tree.
No one knows, right?
No one knows I’m keeping one for myself?
He took a deep breath and approached the altar with today’s sacrifice. There was no time to stress about things like that now. It was almost time for the Morning Feeding to begin.